


The Beast Within

by itzteegan



Series: Shadows [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Battle, Choose Your Own Character, Gender Neutral Character, Gender-Neutral Inquisitor, Gender-Neutral Kadan, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Other, Porn, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Purposefully vague descriptions, Shameless Smut, Smut, choose your own romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzteegan/pseuds/itzteegan
Summary: I don't bear the mark of the beast/Just the heart of the beast ...After taking down Vinsomer, The Iron Bull fights off his leftover bloodlust. His Kadan helps him, as only they can do.
Relationships: Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi/Iron Bull, Female Inquisitor/Iron Bull, Inquisitor/Iron Bull, Iron Bull/Cassandra Pentaghast, Iron Bull/Cullen Rutherford, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Iron Bull
Series: Shadows [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788373
Kudos: 22
Collections: Actually Adoribull Fic





	The Beast Within

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the second installment of the Shadows series! I know I had said I would write more for it and then I haven't touched this for a hot second, but I finally finished! Hooray!
> 
> Just in case you're coming in here without reading the first part: hi! Reading the first part, _Shadows of Sehereon_ , isn't totally necessary, but it may help you understand where The Bull is as far as his mental state. Also, you'll see my long disclaimer about the seemingly contradictory relationship tags ... once again, just in case you haven't read the first part yet, I've kept The Bull's Kadan completely gender-neutral so that you can imagine or insert whichever character you want. To me, it wasn't overly important exactly _who_ his Kadan was, just that they were there and present, and that theme persists in this fic. If there are any tags you think I should add in regards to that, please let me know. :)
> 
> Also, just like the first installment, this was heavily inspired by the song "Shadows" by Styles P, and I really, really, really highly recommend giving the song a listen before reading.

A shrill, shrieking cry cut through the moist sea air, so loud and thunderous it could be felt resonating through the target’s chest cavities as most were momentarily stunned. All aside from one notable exception, one that let an answering roar rip from his throat, a caution to his enemies and a source of bolstering strength to his friends. The Iron Bull ignored the rain pelting them, ignored the pounding of the sea and the whip of the wind whistling through his horns. His gaze fixated on the dragon in front of him, on the rippling scaly hide and the long, thick tail poised to strike. He stared directly into its eyes, unafraid, heart pounding a familiar rhythm in his chest as every vein in his body sang in bloodlust.

Spreading his arms as if in invitation, he held his axe loosely in hand, ready to firmly grasp and swing at a moment’s notice as he radiated an intimidating aura. It was purposeful, a tactic he’d employed many a time before as he drew attention away from his companions in order to give them a little extra time to recover from the multi-sensory assault of the dragon’s call. Something like that could stun even the most seasoned warrior, but The Bull with his Qunari blood and reaver-like abilities was able to withstand it. And so, as everyone else gathered their wits about them, he hefted his weapon and charged.

He deftly ducked under her swinging tail, dodging her sharp claws as he carefully planted just long enough to slash at her underbelly. Moving to the side, her head reared back and he could feel the little hairs on his body stand on end as she prepared to let loose a volley of lightening at him. He grit his teeth, eyeing her every movement, and when she released the ball of energy, he had just enough time and agility to dodge out of its way. The outer edge of the orb of lightening grazed his skin, but it was little more than minor irritation at the moment and he shrugged it off easily. Vinsomer would have to try better than that if she wanted to fell him. He dodged and swung again, his attack connecting on her front leg, and the dragon visibly winced and shifted her stance to take the pressure off her wounded appendage. This time, she growled and leaned down to snap at him, but he parried the blow and struck her jaw with the blunt end of the axe. If his companions behind him had already gotten to their feet and gathered their senses once more, he didn’t know and didn’t care as his only focus at the moment was the glorious one.

The Iron Bull was in his element, the chaos of battle suiting him well as he threw himself into the fight with reckless abandon. He was the eye of a hurricane, the centre of a storm of his own creation, and it was when he dipped into his blood-borne abilities, when his vision turned red and his own roar became unfamiliar and feral even to him that he felt at one with his purpose. That was what the Qun had taught him, after all, that everyone had their purpose, their talents in life, and they were to pursue it to the fullest extent for the good of all, for the good of the Qun.

It was one in the same.

He retained little memory of the rest of the battle, his body and mind acting on instinct borne of years of training and years more of experience. Fighting came as natural to him as lying and as he breathed in, he swore he could smell the very heat of the battle itself. It was a unique scent, filled with metal and blood, poison and elfroot, adrenaline and fear. Vinsomer was waning, she knew this, fought for every step, every breath she took. And The Iron Bull, along with his companions, made this stand her last one. Instead of her full-bodied, stunning roar she’d let out earlier, her death cry was a comparative whimper as her legs gave out and she fell, the ground trembling under the sudden impact of her weight. The Bull, not being one to leave this only done half-way, sunk his axe in her throat, ensuring she wouldn’t get up again, the blood spurting for a moment before it flowed from her wound like a river as she gave one last, shuddering breath and gave up the ghost.

His hands covered in blood, he shuddered and blinked his eye to try to clear the red from his vision. He gripped his weapon tightly in an attempt to ward off the trembling in his limbs, not from fear or anxiety but from the rush and then drop of adrenaline. In the midst of the fight, he ignored all else save for the enemy. When it was over and all was said and done, it was far more difficult to come down and reassert civility over savagery. Even though his companions picked through the dragon’s remains and they made their way back to the camp, the song of battle still sang through his veins, calling to him to continue the mayhem, the blood thirst, the lust for violence and one of the few places he truly felt calm and at peace.

But he didn’t. Instead, when they arrived back at camp and everyone else washed up and made to rest, The Iron Bull stayed on the edge of the camp. He was restless, uneasy, and his eye darted here and there, watching and waiting for … _something._ Even he wasn’t completely sure. It was difficult sometimes to calm the bloodlust, to come back to reality after dipping that far into savage rage, but he had to. He had a job to do, to continue to do, and so he made his way to the edge of the shore, ignoring the way the waves crashed over the edge of his boots as he kneeled and used the salty water to wash away the blood. The cold jolted him, helped somewhat to ground him, but even as he rose from kneeling and stood, he was still tense and vibrating with pent up energy. Making his way back to the camp, he jumped as he saw a shadow skitter across his path, ready to pounce and tear into whatever it was until he realised it was just a nug.

Standing on its hind legs for a moment, it regarded The Iron Bull as it sniffed the air, as if determining if he was friend or foe. After several long sniffs, it lowered itself back to the ground and leisurely continued on its way, as if deciding that there was no imminent threat. He would have chuckled at the idea if he wasn’t still so tense. After all, he’d just helped kill a damn _dragon._ He was a member of the Ben-Hassrath, a ten year veteran of Seheron, a badge that he’d never even wanted in the first place but one that he now wore with a certain amount of pride. Pride that he managed to survive his whole term there without succumbing to madness, if nothing else. He was a walking threat bound in blood and flesh and made living. But the nug didn’t know that, didn’t know the seething savagery that lay beneath, that bared its teeth and gnashed to be released on any and everything he could lay his hands on, and so it passed by without giving The Iron Bull any more consideration that it would a tree or a stone.

He shook his head to try to clear it, clenching his jaw and his fists as he entered the circle of tents, unsure if he even wanted to be there but knowing that it was foolish to wander far with the sun starting to sink. Instead, he ignored the voice inside screaming at him to run away and rip something apart, opting for a large skin of ale, as if the alcohol would dull everything enough to take away the pounding in his head and the red that threatened to take over his vision once more.

It … worked to a certain extent. If not directly then it at least gave him the time he needed to come back down after a battle like that. He was still jumpy, however, when his Kadan settled a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Walk with me, will you?”

He was more than happy to follow them, to abandon the rest of the camp to however they wished to spend the rest of the evening. Two people leaving together was better than one simply going alone, and so nobody questioned it or protested when he stalked after his lover. They never stopped, only turned once to ensure The Bull was following and then threw him a smirk before they slipped further down the small path that lead up into the hills in the surrounding area. Where exactly he was being lead, he wasn’t sure, but he uttered not one word as he kept his focus on the figure ahead of him. He had to reach up to wipe the rain out of his eye several times as it hadn’t yet let up, but that seemed par for the course as it had been the same way the last time he’d been there, when he was recruited by the Inquisitor.

Once they’d reached a little copse, his Kadan spun around, encircling his neck with their arms and pulling him down for a heated kiss. A rumble ripped through his chest, more growl than anything else, as his passions turned toward another path, one that his Kadan was knowingly steering toward. While, for the most part, The Bull tended to take charge in matters of intimacy like this, he was more than happy to follow their lead at the moment. He was the one that needed this direction now, and as his back hit the rough bark of the tree and his lover climbed up to wrap their legs around his waist, he responded in kind, his hands settling underneath their hips to support them. They ground against him, their legs tightening, and he was already stirring for action, the bloodlust now redirected. He breathed deeply, his chest expanding almost painfully as they lathed his jaw and neck in little nips and kisses. Teeth clenched, he exhaled through his nose before planting his feet and hefting himself off the tree, spinning around and pinning them against it instead.

Their little yelp of surprised only spurred him on faster as he set them down, yanking down their breeches and kneeling to lap at their entrance. They jammed a fist in their mouth, muffling most of their cries, but his sharp hearing still picked up a cry here, a whimper there. He reached down to palm himself through his pants, their saving grace being that they were so loose, they weren’t too constraining, even when he was hard. Once they’d reached a frenzied peak, The Bull suddenly stood, wrenching the laces of his trousers loose and spinning his Kadan around. He’d lathered layer upon layer of spit, but he still spilled more on his palm and coated his length before slowly and carefully breaching his lover. His size wasn’t insignificant, and despite every instinct screaming at him to take, to claim, to have them as roughly as they could handle it, they weren’t exactly in private quarters. Granted it was dark, it was raining – rivulets dripping down his face, mixing with his eyelashes, making it even more difficult to see in the low light of far away torches and fires – even still, it would just take one stray cry and their companions could come running, thinking they may be in trouble. And while The Iron Bull wouldn’t have cared, his Kadan would, and so he offered some help by clamping a hand over their mouth.

The rain beat on his back as he rolled his hips, moans vibrating against his palm and a rumble settling in his chest. His blood was still on fire, but the song that sang through his veins had shifted, changing and evolving. It was still feral, still wild, but it was directed differently. Instead of destructive, it was protective, his wide arms encircling his lover as he fucked them hard against the tree. They writhed beneath him, and he could just barely make out the glint of firelight against their eyes as they flicked up to the dark shadow behind them, as surely that was all they saw of The Bull now. Just a hulking mass of darkness that surrounded them, and he had to admit, he liked that idea. A shadow guardian, there to both protect and pleasure them in equal measure.

And The Iron Bull did his fucking job.

They stiffened beneath him as they came, clenching around his length that almost had his eye rolling back into his skull. Leaning forward, he clamped his teeth around their neck, using their flesh to subdue the roar that tore through him as lightning lashed at the sky, thunder rumbling, practically vibrating the air around them as he finished.

Breathing deeply, he let go of their neck, licking the bruise that was surely going to blossom as he readjusted their clothes. His voice low, he murmured in their ear, “Thank you, Kadan.”

They chuckled, the breathy laughter stirring something deep within him. “Of course. Anytime.” And with that, the animal within him shifted, settled down, more sedate now that its energy had run its course. The red had disappeared from his vision entirely, and he now wanted nothing more than to return to camp and sit at the campfire and laugh and swap stories with the others. Or, better yet, occupy a tent with his Kadan and rest until they stirred in the night for another round. They would take their time, then, easing into it in safety and comfort. The thunderstorm ensured they may not have to worry too much about stray sounds, not like in the Hissing Wastes when the silence of the dessert suffered nary a break.

He was a killer, he always would be. That was his purpose, that was how the Qun wielded him as an efficient tool. But as they both made their way back to camp, soaked and satiated, seeing his Kadan walking just slightly off made the animal within him chuff in pride. This was his secret, his precious thing that he kept from everyone else. From his Chargers, from his superiors in Par Vollen … even, to a certain extent, himself. He didn’t think about it, didn’t dwell on it. That would make things more complicated, and he already felt a tangle of complications within himself. He’d worn so many masks since working with the Ben-Hassrath, did he even understand himself? Truly? Even now, as he sat at the circle around the fire, laughing at a wild tale that Varric was spinning, he felt disconnected still. Like he was there, he was present, but not fully. His body was sitting there, reacting as it naturally should, but his mind was far removed and distant.

He glanced up at the sky above him, dark with clouds, and yet beyond, he could see slices of stars behind them. Something within him marked it as significant, even if he didn’t quite understand it himself. They had an important mission the next day, one that could cement an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari. It would be historic, if they could pull it off, and he would be needed at his peak.

And he would be. He was Ashkaari. Hissrad. But above all, he was The Iron fucking Bull, and The Iron Bull always did his job.


End file.
